


Despite Everything, It's Still You

by booping_the_snoot



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bards, Coming of Age, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Racism, Time Skips, i have no clue what to tag this as im sorry, in a less than usual way, its not as bad as it sounds i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booping_the_snoot/pseuds/booping_the_snoot
Summary: "May I interest you a song from my lyre?"





	Despite Everything, It's Still You

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is actually shown but is heavily implied!! Please dont read if any of this can hurt you!!
> 
> I wrote this in 2 hours based on an impulse, I apologize for any mistakes!

The gentle patter of the rain against the rotting wood over her head was soft yet deafening. She sat curled up, tail gripped tightly in her small hands. She shivered, and she whimpered, and she stayed where she was, because although here was cold and cramped and made her back hurt, at least here was safe.

She hadn’t meant to do anything wrong, she swears. She was just trying to get back to her hidey hole when she had bumped into a tall human. She wasn’t trying to pickpocket them, and she told them that, but that didn’t deter them as they grabbed her small arm in their big hand and gripped her hard and hard and--

\--”it hurts, sir, please let me go I-I wasn’t doing anything!” They hadn’t released her, hadn’t listened as they continued to yell, calling her a pickpocket. Pickpocket she may be, this time she was innocent, and yet no one would listen.

The human quiets down suddenly. Tears sting at her eyes and a few slip down her cheeks and the pain in her arm pulses in time with her heartbeat. The human quiets down, and starts to storm in the opposite direction. They don’t release her. _ Pretty little thing like you, _ they say, yanking her into an alleyway as passerbys avert their eyes, _ could fetch me quite the pretty penny. _

They release her arm, and she braces herself to run. The young child barely has time to blink before the human grabs at her horns and she goes from scared to terrified.

_ Stay still, _they huff as they shake her by her horn, nearly bashing her head against the brick wall. “Please,” she cries, “please let me go-”

They do bash her head against the wall this time. She cries out, and her hands move from where they had instinctively went to the humans wrist to her skull. Her vision starts to go blurry, and her head feels sticky. Her few tears turn into full on sobbing, and she goes limp in the humans hold as they shake her again.

_ Screw money, _ she hears them say, clearly despite the pulsing in her head that had drowned out nearly everything else around her. _ I think I’ll keep you for myself. _

They bash her head against the wall once more before releasing her horn, and she collapses and cries. She cries and she cries, and wonders why no one had helped her, why those around them had averted their eyes when she had been dragged away. She must have done something wrong, for fate to treat her so cruelly.

A buckle jingles, and as it comes undone and drops to the dirty ground along with a pair of trousers--

\--a crack of thunder shocks her out of her memories, and she slowly eases her hands away from her thin tail, where her nubby claws had managed to pierce her tail and draw blood. She gazes down at her hands, before burying her face in her arms and curling up into an even smaller ball.

  


\-----

  


She knows people don’t like her. They glare at her and grimace when she gets too close and attempt to stomp on her tail when she’s not looking. It’s always those without horns, without tails, without solid eyes who sneer at her simply for her presence. Despite how they treat her, she smiles. She smiles, and she entertains, and maybe someone will throw a copper piece into her small rusty can.

She had been in the middle of doing a one-handed handstand when she heard it, the soft thrumming of some kind of instrument, and she’s immediately entranced.

She drops from her handstand, footfalls silent, and grabs what few coins she got from her can before leaving it there and following the hypnotic noise.

_ Watch where you’re going, filthy tiefling, _ someone snarls at her, but she pays them no mind.

She weaves her way through the crowd, not many noticing the child moving beneath them. This would be a good opportunity to get some coin, one part of her thinks. But that noise, the other part insists, and she continues forward.

She takes another turn and stops when she sees it. Sitting there, further down the street, sits a woman. In her lap lays… something. She doesn’t know what it is. It has strings, and as the woman's fingers fly across them and pluck in a steady rhythm, her eyes filled with stars.

“Ma’am!” She yells out, and the woman looks up from her strange instrument, and it’s the first time someone looks at her without anger or fear or disgust in their eyes. The lack of negative response empowers her, and she strides forward, tail swinging in wide arcs behind her.

“Ma’am, what’s that?” She asks, pointing at the thing in the ladies' hands.

_ This is my lyre, _ the lady responds, and her voice is deep and sounds like honey.

“Whats a lyre?” The young girl asks.

_ It’s like a small harp, _ she responds.

“What’s a harp?”

“...”

The lady stairs at her, and now there’s something new in her eyes and the young girl is almost scared because she has no clue what it is. The lady invites her up, and the girl steps forward. She flinches when the lady picks her up and puts her in her lap, and her head is screaming at her to runrunrun, don’t touch her- but her thoughts come to a confused stop as the lady guides her fingers to the strings and shows her how to pluck at them, gentle enough not to break the wires yet hard enough to produce that wonderful sound, and as the lady guides her through a song, she relaxes.

  


\-----

  
  


Sitting in an open alleyway, she gently thumbs at the lyre in her lap, and she thinks.

She thinks about how her claws are getting shorter, and she has to painfully break and file down her sharp nails against the dirty walls so that she can play without the strings being accidentally cut.

She thinks about the kind human lady, who spent her time sitting with her and teaching her how to strum her lyre in that beautiful, mindless tune. About how much she can play now, from soft melodies to long and finger-cramping sinatas. She’s proud.

She thinks of how playing something so soft and beautiful can grab people's attention despite the loud chatter of the city. About how even though people freeze at the site of her skin and eyes and everything that makes her different, they don’t voice any disgust that they have and they listen to her play. They listen, and they give her a silver coin or two, and she anonymously donates all that she has to the city orphanage. The same orphanage that refused to house a demon, and she almost forgets to save enough silver for food for herself and supplies to repair her clothing.

She thinks about those she’s stolen from in order to survive, and wonders if they’re okay despite her crime. She finds that she doesn’t care, when she then in turn gave over half of what she had gotten to another, to a street child just like herself. She hopes that other child is okay.

She thinks about mundane things, like the cute dragonborn girl she saw the other day, or how she might have turned 14 recently (it was hard for her to keep track, and she never knew her birthday to begin with. She picked a pretty Autumn day to be her birthday, a day where the leaves matched her brilliant red eyes.), about how her curly hair is long and knotted down her back. And her mind drifts to how easily it would be to grab, even easier than her large ram-like horns and her long spades-tipped tail.

She doesn’t think about that man, about that terrible stormy night, and she gentle hums along as her fingers start to play a wordless tune.

She thinks about how, despite everything she’s had to endure, she’s still herself.

  


\-----

  


She cut her hair. She found a brush, and attempting to untangle it had been a very long and painful experience. But then, a few hours later and a shard of glass, her curly hair that had once sat heavy and warm on her back barely brushed against her shoulders, and she smiles an eye crinkling smile as she looks at her cleaner reflection through the murky water.

She jumps to her feet. Her thin dress fans out around her as she stands, ratty and looking like a quilt with messy stitches, but flowy and soft enough to be comfy against her freshly cleaned skin. Her tail is tucked beneath it, against her legs. She rolls back down her baggy sleeves, and wraps her long, mismatched scarf back around her neck, before grabbing her lyre and running back to the busier parts of the city, away from the polluted canals.

Within the hour she’s in the wealthier part of the city, and she sits and waits until a nice enough person walks by. She needs to hurry before the guards shoo her back to the slums. Within minutes her eyes snap to someone, a sun elf with his head held high. She jumps to her feet once more and runs after them, grabbing their hand before they can get too far.

He rips his hand out of hers and sneers down at her, but she is undeterred.

“Hello sir!” she chirps at him, charming smile close-lipped as to not show her sharp teeth. He pauses, before turning to face her fully. “May I interest you in a song from my lyre? I am quite skilled, not to be boastful, sir.”

_ Who are you? _ The high elf asks, and she curtsies as she replies,

“I am just a bard, good sir. May I interest you a song from my lyre?” She repeats.

He eyes her up and down, and she does her best to hide how she bristles, and stops herself from glaring at the elf. Her willpower holds out and her charming smile stays in place.

_ No, I meant your name, tiefling, _ he says. She blinks. No one had asked her that before.

“My name is Navine, sir. Please, may I interest you a song from my lyre?”

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe, drink some water, eat some food, and remember to take your meds!! Thanks for reading!!


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